


You Have Nice Eyes

by Awesomeist0



Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Eye Trauma, M/M, Ma-Ma is just awful, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pining, Techie's POV, no happy ending, slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesomeist0/pseuds/Awesomeist0
Summary: Matt tells Techie that he has nice eyes.
And Ma-Ma takes them from him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RosieRivendell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieRivendell/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hold On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993318) by [RosieRivendell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieRivendell/pseuds/RosieRivendell). 



> For RosieRivendell, because I absolutely love the way she writes Techie. This work is heavily inspired by her work "Hold On," which is hauntingly beautiful. 
> 
> This whole fic is in Techie's POV. Italics indicate dreams, and text between slashes are Techie's thoughts. I hope this doesn't get too confusing.
> 
> I've only seen Dredd once, so bear with me if I mess up the canon.
> 
> Just as a warning, the last section is especially dark. While there is no sexual content, it gets pretty non-con with poor Techie's eye trauma. Read at your own risk. And someone, please give poor Techie a hug.

The soft electronic pulse of the servers is like a heartbeat; constant and just on the cusp of being audible.  He shudders in the cold, although the little room full of electronics has never once been anything other than stiflingly hot.  But here, beside _him_ and not touching, there is no warmth.

 

His body tingles all over, as if physically crying for the sensation of this man’s skin against his own.  It’s unpleasant...not painful, but still a nagging ache deep in the center of his heart.  A slow bleed leaking from his veins and filling his skin.  The large technician’s warmth can cauterize the wound, but he would never demand that of him.  

 

He wants it so badly.  Dreams of it.  But he will never give voice to his desires.

 

After all, he does not deserve to be touched by something so beautiful.

 

The larger man stares down at him, unruly curls falling against an unmarred forehead.  Not like his own, with the blue ink carved into him to show anyone who bothers to look that he is Ma-Ma’s property.  It had never healed properly, so it hurt, for a while.  Still does.  

 

He looks at the milky expanse just below the other man’s hair with a sense of wonder, unable to keep from thinking about what it would be like to touch it.  To feel skin that hasn’t been destroyed in some way.  His own is a roadmap of healed and healing scars; the worst hiding beneath ill-fitting clothes in the garish yellow color of the Ma-Ma clan.  His heartbeat thumps a deafening tattoo in his ears as he feels the eyes of the technician sweep slowly over his body.  This is the third time the other man has been here to service the generator; an outdated piece of machinery teetering just on the edge of usefulness.  Ma-Ma’s patience is beginning to wear thin, and he knows it’s only a matter of time until it’s replaced.

 

His heart twists hard at the thought of it.  

 

They’ve never spoken.  Not outside of dreams that he can’t bring himself to think of in the daylight.  He’s heard the technician’s voice before; rumbling and low and catching deep within the well muscled plane of his chest.  He wants to speak with him so badly...to allow the larger man’s words to melt into his core like butter on toast.  But he has nothing to say.  He doesn't speak with people.  He doesn't think he even remembers how.

 

There is only Ma-Ma.  The one who hurts him.  Cuts his skin until he bleeds out the failure she berates him for.  But the only one who acknowledges him as a person and not just part of the collection of equipment crammed into this room.  Even if it’s just to bark orders at him, hearing her words make him feel connected to the world around him.  Because sometimes, when she’s high or busy or just doesn't want to see his face for days on end, he almost questions whether or not he’s actually human.  Since the one link he has to others is through this woman and is as fragile as a strand of spider silk, once it snaps will he drift off into nothingness?

 

He’s not sure if it could even be called loneliness, this constant pressure against his heart.  Since he’s never had anyone else in his life, is it something he’s even able to miss? To crave, at an almost primal level?

 

It’s all too much.

 

So he retreats.

 

Ignores the large man with the sun-colored hair, and curls into himself in front of the monitor.  He can feel the technician’s eyes upon him, prickling against his skin like an unwanted touch and he tries to twist against it.  Uses the decaying back of the faux leather chair as a shield of sorts, and struggles awkwardly to hide without seeming too obvious .  Because it's not safe.  Not known.  As nice as it may be to dream of being wanted and desired and even just alive, the reality of being so vulnerable is just terrifying.

 

Numbers are safe.  Computer codes are safe.  Solitude and white noise and his wire animal menagerie...all safe.

 

He doesn't know how much time passes, but his eyes burn like fire, and the numbers and symbols flashing across his monitor are beginning to blend together.  There’s an awkward cough, and the sound is magnified and distorted within the small room to become as harsh as a gunshot.  He shudders without thinking.  Loud noises have always frightened him.

 

But that means the other man is still here.

 

He glances back over, though he knows he shouldn't.  He wants it to be subtle; just a little glance to save before this strangely beautiful man disappears.  Gathers his tools and leaves Peach Trees forever.  

 

The technician is smiling at him.  And he feels his own breath rattle and die in his throat.  

 

“I’m just about done here.”

 

He can only nod, uncertain of what would happen if he opens his mouth to speak.  If he could, he’d climb beneath the stringy orange curtain of his own hair and just hide; disappear in plain sight and not think about the gentle smile that warms him like the rays of a sun he rarely sees. 

 

The other man hands him a yellow piece of paper...maybe a receipt? Invoice? It doesn’t matter, and even if he cared to read what it was, the swooping cursive is barely legible; twisting and curving and looking more like coils of wire than script.  But there is one word he can decipher, tucked off to the side and flanked by the date and time.

 

Matt.

 

His name is Matt.

 

He touches it gingerly, taking care to not accidentally brush his hand against Matt’s overlarge one.  It shouldn’t matter, but knowing _his_ name...having a word attached to the person who has been slowly but surely taking over his dreams makes his brain short-circuit in the best way.  

 

He should say something to Matt.  Maybe thank him for coming out to fix the generator; maybe just apologize for being forced to endure him and his unsettling silence for the past few hours.  Maybe…maybe...

 

“You have nice eyes.”

 

Before he can even breathe, Matt is gone; vanished like a dream in the first few blistering rays of the sun.

 

This isn’t happening.

 

There are tears streaming down his face like water over glass because he wants this...he wants this so much and it hurts.

 

Nice eyes.  Matt thinks he has nice eyes.

 

Of course Matt didn’t mean it.  It was just a joke, and a cruel one, at his expense.  He knew that he was not, nor could ever be considered attractive.  Especially not his eyes.  They’re not nice; washed out maybe.  A pale green, uncertain as to whether or not they want to be blue.   _Freak eyes_ , Caleb had taunted once, refusing to give him his nightly rations until he ceased making eye contact.  Absently, he rubs at his cheek with the back of his wrist, trying not to feel the slight but distinct pressure of the rope-like scars that vivisect the skin.  If Ma-Ma caught him crying again she’d be furious, but the more he fights against them, the more they flow without ceasing.

 

He can’t even pretend to be wanted.

 

*

_“Mmmmm…”_

 

_Soft lips...such soft soft lips brush lightly down his chest in a dance of teasing warmth.  He shudders at the contact, arching forward to get more of that delicious burn.  But Matt pulls away; brown eyes shining with a gentleness he doesn’t deserve.  “Patience.”_

 

_He whimpers pathetically, trying to force himself to remain perfectly still.  It’s nearly impossible with Matt pressed so close, their bare torsos brushing together, but only just.  He needs more.  And deep down, in the one remaining corner of his heart that hasn’t been shattered from Ma-Ma’s years of abuse, he knows his lover will give it to him._

 

_Matt looks so different without his glasses.  So much more vulnerable.  Expressive.  The part of his psyche that is desperate to ensure that he never finds a moment’s peace even within the arms of his love insists that it’s so Matt doesn’t have to look at him clearly.  Without his glasses, he is surely little more than a flesh-colored blob to his lover; one that Matt could pretend was anyone.  Someone as beautiful and special as the younger man.  Someone not broken and scarred nearly beyond recognition._

 

_“Stop it.”_

 

_He realizes that he’s got his arms crossed atop his bare stomach, hiding the too soft, too pale flesh from Matt’s probing gaze._

 

_“I’ve seen you before,” he whispers, gently but firmly peeling his arms from around his midsection.  His actions are slow, and he knows deep down that if he really wanted his lover to stop, he would.  But that isn’t what he wants.  Matt *wants* him...God only knows why.  And even if he feels the remnants of his soul disintegrating with each of the younger man’s feather-light touches, he will never deny his lover anything._

 

_Tears slowly trickle down his face as the scar tissue atop his stomach seems to glow in the soft lights from the servers.  He’s ashamed.  So very ashamed of what he’s allowed to happen to his body.  If he wanted to, he knew he could have overpowered Ma-Ma.  Fought against her; fled Peach Trees.  Not allowed himself to become a canvas for Ma-Ma’s twisted desires of scar tissue and gnarled flesh._

 

_Matt drops to his knees before him, and he feels his chest burn and tighten at the sight of this man; so big and strong and lovely, humbling himself in such a way.  “You are so beautiful,” he mutters, pressing his lips against the largest of the half-moon scars._

 

_For a moment...just a single, perfect moment...he is._

 

_“Don’t leave me.”  He has no right to make such a demand of Matt.  Everything that happens between them...each of these stolen moments of pleasure is a gift he has no way to repay.  Doesn’t even deserve, and it’ll only be a matter of time until his lover realizes it.  “I love you,” he weeps, both hating and loving the tremor that races over Matt like an earthquake._

 

And suddenly the warmth is gone.

 

He actually wails, reaching out to grab at golden curls and mole-studded muscles.  But there’s no one there.  No Matt.  No beautiful lover, no silken skin.  No heartbeat of another searing into his skin, willing his own to beat in time.

 

Nothing.

 

Just a dream.  Another dream.

 

“Come back,” he hears himself breathe, clutching his flattened pillow to his chest and pretending for just a moment there’s someone else in his arms.  

*

 

He doesn’t sleep for nearly a week after that; not until his eyes burn and he actually finds himself drifting off while he should be monitoring the security feed.  

 

“You useless fucker!”

 

Pain as bright and intense as fireworks shoots through his temples.  He whimpers a little, biting the inside of his cheek to ground him.  “I’m...I’m sorry, Ma.”  Of all the things she’s done to him, slamming his head against the desk is mere child’s play.  Barely a blip on the radar of her various abuses.  But he won’t let her see that.

 

“You’re damn fucking right you’re sorry!” Her emerald eyes blaze with hate.  “Is this what you do...you pretend to be working and just sit here and nap?!”

 

He wants to argue with her.  To somehow try to get her to see that he isn’t lazy.  Isn’t useless.  But there was no point in arguing with her.  She’s decided that he was useless.  And so, he was.

 

//No, I’ve got nice eyes.  Matt said so and Matt wouldn’t lie to me.//

 

//Couldn’t lie to me.//

 

But of course he could.  He doesn’t even know him.  Not outside of seeing him a handful of times, and a single, beautiful comment that changed his life forever.

 

Things were getting fucked up fast; his memories of the actual exchange with Matt all those weeks ago

 

//when he said I have nice eyes, nice eyes, nice eyes//  
  


were twisting with his dreams, forming this other universe that existed outside of time.  Outside of reality.  He knew that Matt didn’t love him.  Had never touched him, never kissed his tears away.  He didn’t actually know what Matt’s heart sounded like.  Felt like.

 

He couldn’t dream anymore.  It was killing him.

 

But then again, how could he not?

 

Dreams were the only place he could be with Matt.  Could feel safe.  Loved.  Feel the arms and the skin and the kiss of another and believe that he was the center of someone’s universe, if only for a few hours.  

 

He couldn’t give it up.

 

He knew he’d never really be with Matt.  So this was all he had.  All they had.  

 

Ma-Ma could take everything else away from him.   _Did_ take everything else away from him.  But she could never have his dreams.  Never have Matt; never have the one golden memory of kindness.  

 

Even as Ma-Ma screams at him; threatens and berates and barely hangs onto her composure, all he can think about is Matt speaking the words to him on a loop.

 

Nice eyes.  Nice eyes.  Matt thinks he has nice eyes.

*

_“I’ll take you away from here.”_

 

_He presses his face against the bumpy ridge of his lover’s collarbone, not wanting the younger man to see how his words are affecting him.  That’s all he could ever want.  A soft bed.  A name.  A life, with Matt._

 

_His heart swells painfully at the thought of it; a little apartment in another sector, just large enough for two.  A life that only belongs to *them*.  Matt doesn’t mean it, not outside of the unfiltered whispers of pillow talk.  Once he’s got his head together he’ll regret what he’s said._

 

_And it’ll destroy him, more effectively than anything Ma-Ma could ever do._

 

_Callused fingertips brush across his brow, tracing over the brand that has reduced him to a commodity.  “I mean it.  You don’t deserve this, any of this.  The way they treat you…”_

 

_He nuzzles Matt’s chest, trying to mask the telltale shine of the tears he feels prickling behind his eyes._

_“Just hold me.”_

 

_“Always,” Matt whispers, pressing little kisses against his eyelids._

*

 

“Dude, you’ve gotta get up.”

 

Blearilly, he rubs at his face; the grit sticking to the corners of his eyelids and stubbornly refusing to dissipate.  It’s the middle of the night and he should be sleeping.  Everyone here should be.  Ma-Ma doesn’t have him working on anything of any real importance, so he should be dreaming.  Of Matt.  And a touch that doesn’t hurt.

 

Kay thrusts a protein bar into his outstretched hands; the wrapper crinkled and torn from being in his pockets.  “Hide that, all right? But seriously, Ma-Ma’s on her way here.”

 

Hearing of Ma-Ma’s imminent arrival snaps him awake as abruptly as a bucket of ice water.  “W-what does she want? Is she upset?”

 

It’s the most he’s spoken to another human in years.  But right now, he’s just so frightened that the words just tumble out.

 

“Should I be?” Her voice is soft, but that makes it seem even more dangerous.  “I’ve got something for you.  A gift.”

 

He doesn’t like her smile.  All teeth and sharp edges and malice in her eyes.  

 

Caleb is beside her, looking awkwardly around the room.  At his little wire animals.  The coils of blue fairy lights.  Anywhere, except for him.

 

The bottom drops out of his stomach, and he doesn’t know why.

 

“You’ve gotta come with us.”  A barely concealed apology, but the closest thing to one he’s ever heard.  “Let’s go, Techie.”

 

He wants to question further.  Find out where he’s going, because it certainly can’t be anywhere good.  Not with Ma-Ma grinning like a twisted approximation of the Cheshire Cat, and the two men who frequently make his life hell seeming as solemn as if they’re leading him to his funeral…

 

Oh.

 

A wave of nausea washes over him, so intense and sudden that he can’t help doubling over in pain.  This is it.  She’s threatened it for years; he’s a useless drain of resources, and the clan doesn’t need him.  He’s a weakness.  A liability.

 

“Relax, sweetie.”  Ma-Ma reaches out to ruffle his hair, although as soon as her hand approaches, he flinches.  “This is a good thing for you, I promise.”

 

They all leave the security room; Kay in the front and Caleb behind to keep him from sprinting away.  With each step he feels his heart pull tighter, and by the time they’ve arrived at the atrium, his insides are a coiled spring ready to snap.  He flicks his eyes between Ma-Ma’s enforcers, crazily wondering if he could inflict enough damage on them to get away from this trap he’s found himself ensnared in.  He’s certainly no match for them in sheer bulk and power, but since he’s always been so passive, if he were to get a good suckerpunch on one of them, there’s a chance he could escape in the confusion.  A slim chance, surely, but a chance nonetheless.

 

He doesn’t want to die.

 

Desperately, he thinks of Matt and the dreams of running away together.  Not real; not shared.  But as he marches toward an uncertain future, it’s all he has to keep himself calm.  Matt _could_ be there.  If he senses that there’s something wrong with him; perhaps in a cosmic connection between them and their dreams, maybe he’ll charge into Peach Trees like a white knight.

 

No.  He won’t, and it’s just naive to think otherwise.  

 

“This way,” Ma-Ma snaps, giving him a graceless shove through the entrance to the medcenter.  

 

The medcenter?

 

This makes no sense.  If Ma-Ma was going to kill him, why bring him to a place of healing? He glances around the empty room, noting with a sick sense of fascination that the ward is empty, save for someone he assumes to be a doctor.  His face is mostly hidden behind a surgical mask, and though he cannot see his expression, the doctor’s eyes are guarded.  Sad.

 

“This is the recipient?”

 

Ma-Ma nods an affirmative, as the doctor gestures over to a gurney with surgical tools stretched out beside it.  Scalpels and other wicked looking implements glimmer like stars in the night sky, and only then does he notice the pair of optics staring up at him.

 

Waiting for him.

 

All the breath leaves his lungs and he falls forward, but Caleb is quick to grab his arm.  Pulls him up; shoves him toward the paper-draped bed.  “No,” he whimpers, bracing himself as best he can.  

 

This is not going to happen.  He will fight this; fight her, with every fiber of his being.

 

“Do we need to sedate him?”

 

“That’s not necessary.”

 

//”I’ll take you away from here.”//

 

Fear is choking his lungs like a poison.  He has to run.  If he wants to keep his eyes; his one real tie to Matt, he has to be brave.

 

//”You are so beautiful”//

 

But he can’t move.

 

Can’t breathe.

 

“Get the fuck on the bed, Techie.”

 

He shakes his head no.

 

Not happening.  This is not happening, not happening.

 

Caleb shoves him down harshly, and Ma-Ma stands before him, her face twisted in an expression of fury that makes his blood run cold.  “Here’s what’s going to happen here,” she hisses with such venom that he can actually feel her spittle speckle his cheeks.  “You’re getting your fucking eyes replaced.  Either go with it and make it easier on yourself, or Kay’s going to give you a hit of Slo-Mo and _then_ we rip them out.”

 

//Matt, where are you? Save me...save my eyes.  You said they were nice, and even if I don’t believe it, I want to keep them for you//

 

But Matt isn’t coming.

 

He wishes it would happen; let the world fade out and turn into one of his dreams with the other man in his arms and their skin touching everywhere and words of such sweetness that nourish him more than food or water ever could.

 

//”You have nice eyes.”//

 

The paper beneath him crinkles as he trembles, trying as best he can to roll away, even as Caleb pins him down. “Forgive me,” he mutters, so silently that the words would have been swallowed by the sound of his own whimpers if the other man hadn’t been literally right on top of him.  He can’t forgive; he’ll never forgive.

 

“Please...just let me go.  My eyes are fine.  They’re nice.  Matt said so.  They’re nice and his and oh God Ma, don’t take them don’t take them don’t take-”

 

And above his bed, a fly on the crackling fluorescent light watches in silent judgement.


	2. Chapter 2

_ He opens his eyes.  Doesn’t expect to, actually, but once he does, he has no idea where he is.  It’s a small room.  Dingy almost, with peeling paint and piles of miscellaneous stuff taking over every available surface.  He’s never been here before. _

 

_ But he’s never felt more safe. _

 

_ “Love?”   _

 

_ A large hand...Matt’s large hand, cords through this hair, twirling the strands through his thick fingers like pasta around the tines of a fork.  Though his scalp has always been extremely sensitive, it doesn’t hurt.   _

 

_ Matt could never hurt him. _

 

_ He struggles to sit up; the scratchy woven fabric of the threadbare couch like sandpaper against his sensitive skin.  “W-Where am I?” _

 

_ “You really don’t remember?” _

 

_ He shakes his head.  It’s almost unfathomable that he could forget something that happened between him and his lover, but everything about him being here and away from Peach Trees is one big blur. _

 

_ Wait. _

 

_ Ma-Ma wanted… _

 

_ She was going to take… _

 

_ An invisible vice clamps tightly around his heart as he reaches up to his face, poking at his eyes with a desperate and terrifying intensity.  It hurts, of course.  His left eye throbs and stings from the abrupt contact with the dirty semicircle of his nail, but in that pain is just the beginnings of relief.  If it hurts, perhaps that means that these are still *his* eyes. _

 

_ “Don’t worry, baby,” his lover says softly, resting a hand against his back.  He can feel it searing into his skin even though the thin cotton of his shirt.  “I wouldn’t let her take them.” _

 

_ Love, pure and simple rushes through him, cauterizing all of his pain and leaving only a quiet peace in its wake.  “You...how did you-” _

 

_ “You needed me.”  Matt slides his hand over atop his chest, skimming his fingers lightly over the muscle as if in time with his heartbeat.  “I told you that I was going to take you away from her.  Nobody, and I mean *nobody* will ever hurt you again.”  He presses his soft, full lips to the corner of his eye, where tears, so real and beautiful, are streaming down his cheeks.  “I will protect you until I cease to draw breath.” _

 

_ “I love you,” he sobs, closing his arms tightly against Matt and trying hard not to just disintegrate from all that he’s feeling. _

 

“Hey.”

 

A light shake; an unfamiliar voice.

 

And the pain he’s been able to ignore crashes over him like the tide.  Drawing him deeper.  Filling him.

 

It’s dark.

 

Shouldn’t be dark; at least not to this degree.  There’s always lights surrounding him.  The computer monitor.  The crackling, popping neon of the overhead lighting.

 

But there’s just nothing.

 

That must mean…

 

“My eyes.”

 

Two words.  Two such simple words.  But two words he knows he’ll never be able to speak again.  

 

“The procedure was successful.  You...well, after another night of bedrest, we should be able to activate your new optics.”  The doctor emotionlessly goes through a list of instructions about the care and maintenance of his optics, though he has no intention of following them.  Let the fucking things break.  Maybe if they become infected, it’ll kill him.

 

He hears himself sob, and realizes, with a sick sense of fascination, that he has no tears.  He wants to cry.  Needs to let some of the consuming and crushing sorrow out before he becomes smashed under the weight of it all.  But he can’t. 

 

He’s trapped.

 

“Sorry, kid; guess you’re noticing that you can’t cry anymore.  You don’t have tear ducts.”  The doctor begins rattling off the various scientific reasons that this basic human function was taken away from him, but it doesn’t matter, so he doesn’t listen.  Perhaps this was Ma-Ma’s true motive all along.  He was weak, and he cried too much, so she took away his tears. 

 

And his eyes.

 

“Give them back, please!” He’s begging and it’s shameful, but he can’t bring himself to care.  There must be a way.  Even if he can never cry again, or even if they’ve become useless by this point and he’ll be forever unable to see, at least he’d have his eyes back.  

 

“I don’t think you understand what’s just happened to you.  Ma-Ma...well, she ripped out your eyes.  Actually pulled them from your skull.  There’s nothing left.”

 

That’s not true.  It can’t be true.  This is a horrible nightmare, and he’ll wake up soon.  And he’ll be in Matt’s arms; so warm and safe and loved.  

 

“Just try to get a little more sleep, alright?” He feels the doctor’s hand lightly brush against his shoulder, but the touch is wrong and he wants to shove it away.  No one should touch him, no one but Matt.  

 

He rolls onto his side, feeling the cinderblock wall cold against his back as he nuzzles against a pillow that smells like antiseptic and blood.  “Hold me,” he whispers, as if Matt could somehow hear his pleas and materialize beside him.  

 

But he doesn’t.

 

No one does.  And no one ever will.

*

_ “Matt, can I ask you something?” _

 

_ They’re laying naked in the technician’s bed; a lumpy twin mattress that should barely be large enough to contain a man as large and well muscled as his lover.  But since they’re curled so tightly together, there’s more than enough room for them to sleep comfortably.  He sighs contentedly as his lover skims his hand up and down his ribcage; taking the time to brush his thumb against each of the protruding bones.  “You can ask me anything you want, love.” _

 

_ He presses a light kiss to the bridge of Matt’s nose, loving the salty, almost electric taste of his skin.  “Are you...I mean, do you, like, regret taking me here?” _

 

_ The technician’s eyes are dark.  Shadowed.  “What do you mean?” _

 

_ “I...it’s not like I do anything all day.  You go to work to provide for us, and all I do is lie around.  You work so hard, and I-” _

 

_ Matt cuts him off with a kiss.  “My sweet baby,” he whispers, nuzzling his cheek with a gentleness he never thought possible.  “I love having you here.  Yeah, I may be the only one that works outside the house, but you...you take care of my heart.”  He chuckles.  “And okay, I know how corny that sounds, but I swear it’s true.  I couldn’t live without you.  I wouldn’t even want to try.” _

 

_ This can’t be real.  It’s so beautiful.  So raw. _

 

_ There’s only Matt, warm and alive, and pressed against his bare skin.  He wants to respond in kind, because if something was to ever happen to his lover; or if the horrible day ever comes when he decides he wants and needs more than a broken runaway slave is able to give, he doesn’t think he’ll survive it. _

 

_ His world is Matt’s.  His life is Matt’s. _

 

_ They’re kissing again; their bodies sliding together with an easy familiarity that makes his insides burn in the best way.  Because in the brightness, there can be no shadows, no doubts.  Only him and Matt, and the love that is so real between them it’s almost tangible.  It’s all he could ever want.  All he could ever need. _

 

_ And as the hazy light of daybreak streams though the sheer curtains and bathes his lover in shades of yellows and reds that seem to make his skin shimmer, they become one. _

_ * _

The first thing that he notices is that he can no longer see in color.

 

Except for orange; everything is now in shades of orange.  Sometimes pale, approaching yellow.  But a deep yellow, almost buttery.  Just a stone’s throw from the orange that now dominates his life.  __ He hates orange.

 

But what he lacks in color, he more than makes up for in the sheer volume of information he’s bombarded with.  His eyes

 

_ //not his eyes; his eyes were nice, Matt said so; they were nice, they were, even if he can’t remember them// _

 

are always focusing.  Always seeing.  He can see the most minute detail, and zoom in and focus as though perpetually at his computer.  Just by looking at someone, he can get their basic biophysical profile.  Their heart rate. Oxygen saturation.   It’s haunting to know so much about others; more than they could ever consciously know of themselves.  

 

He wants to rip them out.  But he doesn’t.  Because that would mean defying Ma-Ma; something he can’t bring himself to do.

 

So he exists.  Loses himself in days that bleed into each other without ceasing, and feeling more and more woozy with each passing second.  He isn’t allowed to sleep anymore, at least not for more than a few hours at a time.  Because his optics don’t need rest.  They can go on forever.  Seeing all.  Knowing all.

 

It doesn’t matter that his brain throbs from exhaustion, feeling thick and viscous like pancake batter.  His arms feel so empty without Matt to fill them, even if only in dreams.  He longs to feel him again; his warm breath ghosting across his chest as they share whispered words of such sweetness.  In his dreams, he sees color.  All color; a rainbow of it in Matt’s beautiful form.

 

Everything else is just orange.

*

“You know, you never thanked me.”

 

Ma-Ma’s sudden presence fills him with an anxiety so bright and intense that it’s like electricity.  For a moment, his exhaustion is forgotten.  His loneliness is forgotten.  All he can do is focus on getting through this exchange without suffering any further pain.

 

He glances up tentatively from the keyboard.  Is this one of her games that he finds himself subjected to; one where he cannot know all the rules until he’s punished for breaking them? At least as far as he can tell from his sideways glance, she is not holding her knife.  Which is a relief, of course, though he knows that she doesn’t need it to cause him pain.

 

After all, she didn’t use it to take his eyes.

 

His insides feel like hot lead, and he doesn’t want to look at her.  Doesn’t want to talk to her.  But the longer he avoids her, the worse it will end up being for him.  “F-For what?” He feels like an idiot, but he can’t remember her doing anything for him that would warrant a thank you.  Perhaps it’s just for the privilege of being allowed to meander through a life he wants nothing to do with.

 

As soon as he speaks, he knows he’s said the wrong thing.  She backhands him; her hand shooting out like a pouncing serpent to crash against his cheek.  It’s too hard and he knows from years of experience that it’ll bruise.  “For the  _ optics _ , Techie! Those fucking things weren’t cheap, you know.”

 

He resists the urge to cup his throbbing face, certain that it’d only make Ma-Ma angrier.  “I...I’m sorry, Ma.”  Broken words, nearly a whisper.  As broken as the man speaking them.  

 

“So do it now.”

 

No.

 

He finds himself choking on words that have no business leaving his lips.  Thank her? For taking his eyes; the one thing about his pathetic form that Matt found desirable? For taking away his dreams; the only time he’s able to feel a touch that doesn’t hurt? For reducing him to…

 

To?

 

He doesn’t know what he is anymore.

 

Is he even human? Because humans sleep. Humans don’t have eyes that whir like lenses, occasionally frightening him so badly that he can barely fight back a scream.  

 

How can he thank her for that?

 

“I’m waiting.”  Her words are flat but dangerous; a bomb ticking through the last remaining seconds of peace before detonation.  

 

But he will.  And does.  Even though speaking the words pushes him even deeper into a pit of self loathing that seems to have no end.  “Thank you, Ma.”

 

“Was that so hard?” She cups his throbbing cheek as he sits as still as a statue.  Her fingertips skim across a newly formed welt, and he bites the side of his tongue to keep from crying out in rage-filled anguish.  “Get back to work.  And take a fucking shower; you smell like shit.”

 

She’s gone, but her last remark lingers like a specter amidst the orange shadows.  He can’t shower.  His optics will rust if exposed to the water.  He learned that the hard way, so now he must content himself with a basin of water and a cloth in his off hours.  Ma-Ma surely knew that. 

 

It shouldn’t have hurt him as badly as it did, but it was just one of the many things that she took away from him along with his eyes.  He didn’t want to smell bad.  He didn’t want to be further detached from normalcy; to alienate everyone even more so than he already did.

 

He lowers his head down to look at the keyboard, his greasy hair clinging to his face like an unwanted hug.

*

_ “I’m so worried about you.” _

 

_ He wants to tell Matt not to bother; by this point he has become a nonperson.  Not living.  A ghost inhabiting a body, rattling around in his bones waiting for the finality of death.  Not worth pity.  Not worth concern. _

 

_ His optics are infected. _

 

_ He hasn't received medical attention, but he can feel the toxins accumulating in his body.  He can smell them; sickly sweet like sweat but more pervasive.  The past few days have been little more than a haze of fevered dreams, each more painful than the last.  He’ll have Matt in his arms, only to have him vanish like dew in the early morning.  Or Ma-Ma catches them at the nexus of their passion, and he’ll be forced to watch as she tortures his lover.  Cuts Matt’s flawless skin between the moles like a twisted dot to dot puzzle.   _

 

_ Pulls out Matt’s eyes. _

 

_ His perfect perfect eyes. _

 

_ “You have to do something.”  Matt reaches over to touch his face, and his touch is soothing and cool.  An ice pack to his flaming skin.  “Baby, if you keep going like this, you’ll die.”  There are tears gleaming in his lover’s expressive eyes, and he hates himself more than ever for putting them there.  “Don't make me live without you.” _

 

_ “But you already do.”  His mind is screaming at him to stop speaking; to just enjoy this moment with the man he loves.  But he can't.  “This isn't real.  You...you’re just a dream, Mattie.” _

 

_ “Maybe for now.”  Matt presses a light kiss to his left eyelid; his optic beneath throbbing in time with his heartbeat.  “But what if I promise that we'll see each other again? *Really* see each other, not just in dreams?” _

 

_ The thought was too beautiful to even hope for.  He feels his useless eye sockets pulse as his body attempts to produce tears.  “How can you know?”  _

 

_ His lover smiles through his tears, and it’s bright and hopeful and everything he could ever hope to see.  “Because I love you.” _

 

_ He's heard the words before in his dreams of Matt, but this time it's different.  Perhaps it's because he’s sick and vulnerable, but he swears he can feel the determination in his lover’s words.  He feels his mouth gaping stupidly open; barely able to breathe, let alone form a coherent thought. _

 

_ “I know it's hard, my darling boy, but I need you to be brave for me just a little bit longer.”  Matt kisses his forehead, his eyes set and serious. “You're going to wake up for me now.  And when you do, you're going to go to the medcenter for help.  Will you promise to do that for me?” _

 

_ He nods an affirmative, knowing that he’s hopelessly unable to deny his lover anything.  “I’ll try,” he says weakly.  “For you, love, I’ll try.” _

 

And he forces his eyes open.  And marches right past the stunned Kay down to the medcenter.

*

It’s been six months to the day since Matt came to Peach Trees.  Six months since he heard the words that changed his life forever; that became as much a driving force in his body as his breath and heartbeat.  He knows that he should forget them, since all they do is remind him of who he once was.  What he once had before Ma-Ma gutted him.  

 

_ //“You have nice eyes.”// _

 

But he can’t.

Matt’s coming back for him.  He clings to that when the world gets cold; when the gentle hands and soft caresses of his dream lover give way to a reality of fists and bruises.  It may have been a fantasy brought on by fever and exhaustion, but nothing has ever felt more real to him.  He has to believe, because denying it would mean that there’s nothing for him.  Nothing real; nothing worth fighting for.

 

And then…

 

It’s just a glimpse on his monitor.  A blur of motion as a man passes between the area of one security camera to the next.  But there’s no denying what his heart already knows.  “Matt,” he breathes, feeling his heart leap into his throat.

 

It’s real.  It’s finally happening.

 

Shaking violently, he rushes out of the security room, barely making it into the bathroom before vomiting.  Every muscle is tense; coiled and taut like the wire sculptures that once occupied his time.  He leans his head against the edge of the sink.  

Why is he scared?

 

This is everything he ever wanted.  Ever wished for.  Matt’s real.  So real and beautiful and soon he’ll be  _ his _ .  

 

He turns the water on full blast, trying as best he can to wash himself with paper towels and powdered hand soap.  The results aren’t ideal; the soap is much too harsh for his sensitive skin and he feels itchy and raw where he tried to scrub the lingering remains of Peach Trees away.  He smells wrong.  Industrial.  Chemical, like the lab where Ma-Ma makes Slow-Mo.  But anything’s surely an improvement over the scent of sweat and agony.  If only there was something he could do about his hair, but he doesn’t trust himself to clean it without irritating his optics.  And since he can’t be certain if he’ll have access to medical care once he’s with Matt, he leaves it alone.

 

Breathe.  In and out. 

 

When he returns, Matt’s there, but he’s working and doesn’t seem to notice him.  His lover 

 

_ //no no not his lover yet, but soon...soon...// _

 

Is wearing headphones.  Huge over the ear monstrosities that must dull his senses to everything around him.  He pushes down his disappointment, and goes about the tedious task of updating and debugging the security network.  May as well make life easier on his replacement.

 

An hour passes.  Then two.  As each second passes, he finds himself growing more and more anxious, trying not to think about what it’ll feel like to finally be in Matt’s arms.  Get lost in his warmth and love and forget about this world where there was only pain.  Only orange.

 

And.

 

Matt looks up.

 

Smiles. 

 

“Hey.”

 

Approaches.  Draws closer, each step an echoing eternity that doesn’t cover nearly enough distance.  

 

“I was hop-”

 

He stops short.

 

No.  No, this isn’t right.

 

It’s supposed to be love in Matt’s eyes.  Love and devotion and the promise of forever.

 

Not…

 

Not the shock.  Pity.

 

_ Disgust _ .

 

Matt walks out of the room without a second glance.

 

Funny.

 

That ripping sensation deep in his core.  He thought that was finally it; his heart had actually shattered.  Torn itself beneath the strain of just one loss too many.  But it’s not his heart.

 

There’s something streaming down his cheeks.  Not tears; can’t be tears.  He can’t cry.  He knows this, and besides, tears aren’t warm.  Not metallic.

 

He’s bleeding.

*

_ He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when he comes to, he’s in the murky haze of a drugged sleep.  There’s no light.  No orange.  Only the inviting arms of darkness, so thick and consuming like the deepest recesses of space.  But no, he’s not alone.  There is brightness, in the form of a single perfect point of light. _

 

_ Matt. _

 

_ There is only Matt.  Smiling at him.  Touching him so gently, brushing away hair that’s clean and soft and silky out of his optics.  “Beautiful,” he whispers.   _

 

_ And he is.  He grins shyly up at Matt, matching him kiss for kiss.  Touch for touch.  Desperate mouths join and release; the contact light and teasing and not enough to sate the hunger that grows in his core. _

 

_ “You’ll stay with me, right?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking, not when the answer is here in his arms. _

 

_ Matt beams at him, rubbing the tip of his aquiline nose in the recessed hollow of his collarbone.  He doesn’t answer with words, but there’s no need for them anyway.  Not here, in their universe for two. _

 

_ Because it doesn’t matter what else happens.  It doesn’t matter what Ma-Ma does to him.  What she takes from him.  It doesn’t even matter if Matt; the real Matt and not the beautiful and perfect creature that exists only here wants nothing to do with him.  Because he has *this* Matt.  His Matt.  And their love that stretches out far beyond any dream to add some color to an otherwise orange world.  Even if the other Matt never loves him, it doesn’t matter. _

 

_ Matt kisses down the soft expanse of neck; the soft words nearly swallowed by his skin.  “You have nice eyes.” _

  
_ And here, in his dreams, he does once again. _


End file.
